It's Time to Go
by Razzle
Summary: Zane follows through on a promise he made to a little girl just after becoming the new Incarnation of Death: to wake her up before collecting her soul. One-shot, fluff, post-series. Rated PG for supernatural content and character death.


It was a cold November night, and Death stalked the halls of the Blessed Mercy nursing home. The lone aide pushing a cart down the quiet hallway shuddered briefly as she unknowingly passed Death by, and mumbled to herself, "Must be tired. Job's gettin' to me." Death ignored her as she ducked into a nearby room with clean towels for the next morning. He walked several more feet along the hallway until he reached his destination - room 246.

As a nursing home with a high focus on hospice care and quality of life for its residents, Blessed Mercy had mostly private rooms, and this was one of them. Death reached out a bony hand and quietly pushed the heavy door open into the room, entering after the light that spilled in from the hallway. He approached the bed, reached over the cold metal siderail and touched the old woman who slept there on her shoulder. "Jessica," Death said softly, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Wake up, now."

The old woman, Jessica, stirred slightly before her eyes blinked open. She looked up into Death's face without seeming to recognize him for a moment, then smiled. "Oh, it's you," she whispered. "You remembered."

"How could I forget?" Death returned, taking his hand from her shoulder and reaching up to lift the death mask away from his face. Zane well remembered the little girl whose letter he'd snatched from the butler of his house in Purgatory, along with a few other pieces of mail. It had been just after he had replaced the old Incarnation of Death, and he had made certain that he received and read all his mail rather than letting the old tradition stand where the butler helpfully shoveled it all into the fireplace. "It's time, now, Jessica," Zane continued, glancing at his watch.

"I'm ready," Jessica said, lifting herself up on one elbow. "I'm glad you're here. I remember you said you don't come for everyone when their time comes."

Zane nodded. "That's true. Usually souls can find their own way to their destinations - up or down - and I only need to collect those souls that are not quite good or evil enough to make it themselves."

Jessica echoed Zane's nod, her face showing a sort of resigned acceptance. "I suppose everyone's got their soul weighed down by something, and Lord knows I've not been perfect," she agreed. "I hope I can scrape by enough to go _that_ way, though," she said, trying to supress her fear with humor.

Zane's heart went out to her. "That's not why I came for you," he said quietly. "Yours is a very good soul, almost pure white. But it's been damaged and torn by the people around you. So I'm here to make sure you get where you're going safely."

Jessica choked back a sob that might otherwise have disturbed other residents of Blessed Mercy, or drawn the attention of the nursing staff, and reached out a gnarled, thin old hand to squeeze one of Zane's. "You must be God's paramedic. I sure am ready for healing."

"I know," Zane said, thinking back on another woman he had helped move on even before he was Death - his own mother. Shaking off the memory for the time being, he turned his attention back to his client. "You don't have to wait any more."

"Thanks," Jessica said, giving his hand one final squeeze before letting go and settling back down against her pillow. "Thanks for everything. My mother never made me say that hateful prayer ever again after you called."

Zane smiled at the memory. _'Now I lay me down to sleep'..._ "You're welcome. I always hated that prayer myself." Without further words, he reached into Jessica's chest and gently pulled her soul free of her body. Looking down at the fragile soul in his hands, Zane saw the many tears and frayed edges of the soul, then something he hadn't expected caught his eye. One of the places where Jessica's soul had been ripped, there was a tiny patch sewing it back together. On closer examination, he realized that there were a few other places like that, but somehow he knew that that particular mended patch was there because of that phone call he'd made to her mother so many years ago. It was the nicest compliment he had ever been paid. Blinking away the vision-obscuring tears, Zane placed the soul in a little round ball and sent it on its way to Heaven.


End file.
